


Choices Were Made

by aliencereal



Series: a bag of chips and other things alistair got out of the first floor vending machine [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2446859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliencereal/pseuds/aliencereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this AU prompt:</p>
<p>"tried to get the candy bar that didn’t drop out of the vending machine and now my hand is stuck can u help me out" au</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices Were Made

**Author's Note:**

> Original tumblr post: [here](http://textsfromtitanfood.tumblr.com/post/96672784247/consider-the-following-aus-we-wore-matching)
> 
> Dedicated to rockpapersarcasm on tumblr, who sends me really sweet asks <3

Alistair is a 6'2” seventeen-year-old boy and burns through calories like nobody's business. This does not mix well with Denerim High's school lunch size; a square of pizza, a fruit cup and a cookie really doesn't last him the whole afternoon. It _definitely_ doesn't last him through football practice, so by the end of it, he's the kind of hungry that comes with headaches and general misery.

Which is why, when his bag of chips gets caught in the vending machine, he decides that sticking his hand in there to get it is a better idea than making sure he doesn't miss the late bus home. To make things worse, his cell phone is in his backpack, which is unhelpfully leaning against the side of the vending machine.

Not that he has any friends he could call for help anyways. Isn't that a depressing thought.

“Brilliant,” He mumbles to himself, trying for the third time to just yank his hand back out. The machine tips threateningly and he frantically pushes it back against the wall. The last thing he wants is to end up as a pancake.

“Are you seriously stuck in there?” Comes a voice from behind him, and Alistair startles so hard he nearly knocks the vending machine over anyways. He tries to look behind him to make eye contact with his potential rescuer, but she's just out of sight.

“Tabris?” He asks, wondering if there was any chance the floor might just swallow him up right now. Of _course_ it'd be Kallian Tabris who found him like this. Why would it be anyone else? Nope, it's going to be the confident, funny, outspoken, insanely out of his league elven girl who he's liked ever since she got angry at the gym teacher for blowing his whistle at them and _stole the whistle_ last year.

“Alistair. Did your football friends just leave you here or what?” She asks, leaning against the wall next to the vending machine. Her red-brown hair is pulled back out of her face and her little frown is cute. Fuck his life.

“They, uh. Left without me. I wanted to get something to eat before getting on the bus,” He says, which is sort of a lie by omission. He doesn't _have_ football friends, but he doesn't want to seem any more pathetic in front of her than he already does.

“Well, you got about two minutes before the bus leaves without either of us. Need some help?” Tabris asks, crouching down next to him to examine his trapped arm. Alistair hopes he isn't blushing, but it's not likely, given how warm his face is. This is not a good day. Regardless, he really can't turn down the help.

“Please,” He asks, resisting the urge to wince at how whiny he sounds. Tabris examines the machine for a minute, then glances down the hallway behind her.

“Hold still,” She tells him, and Alistair gives her a questioning look as she pulls her chemistry book out of her backpack. Without any further, she holds the book in both hands and _smashes it into the glass_. Alistair yelps, expecting a shower of broken glass, but Tabris' efforts only yield a small hole.

“Did you just _do_ that?” He asks, his voice high pitched and squeaky. Tabris smiles apologetically at him and puts her hand through the hole in the glass, using it to grab Alistair's hand and push. He pulls to help her out, and promptly falls over onto his ass.

His hand is bleeding from two places where glass caught him at a bad angle, and Tabris swears loudly when she sees it.

“Shit. Fuck. I didn't-- Fuck, I'm sorry. C'mon, let's go wash that.”

*

Tabris has no qualms about being in the boys' bathroom. She picks the glass out of his hand with a sort of practiced ease that Alistair finds suspicious, but he doesn't say a word about it.

“I'm really sorry. That was so stupid, I should have--”

Alistair shakes his head, trying for a reassuring smile but probably just coming up with awkward.

“Your methods are a little rough, but, hey, improvement over my efforts, right? Yours _worked_ ,” He reminds her, and is rewarded with a laugh. _God_ , her laugh is cute. It's utterly unrestrained and it warms him to his toes.

“At least it doesn't look like you'll need stitches,” Tabris says, still sounding worried. Alistair can't remember the last time someone was concerned about him like that, injury or no injury.

“To be honest, I think stitches would be worth it to get something to eat right about now,” He jokes, and Tabris freezes.

“Holy shit. Alistair. Do you have any idea how many snacks we can grab if we get back over there before anyone notices?”

There's a pregnant pause.

“Oh, I like how you think,” Alistair says with a big grin. Tabris grins back at him.

“Dibs on the barbecue chips.”

*

They miss the bus, and spend two hours in an abandoned classroom, feasting on stolen snacks and discovering surprisingly similar tastes in video games.

When Alistair _does_ make it home that night, he finds that Tabris has added him on facebook. His injured hand keeps him out of football just long enough that he finally finds an excuse to quit. He has enough snacks to last him two weeks.

All in all, it's a really, really good day.


End file.
